


I fancied you’d return like you said...

by peachspace



Category: Who Killed Markiplier, Who Killed Markiplier? - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Dark is sad boy, Gore prompt, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, No real gore though, Wilford gets shot, mostly blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachspace/pseuds/peachspace
Summary: Guys, look at me! I’m writing so much! I want to be like the big cool grownup writing accounts!Anyway, more darkstache using the gore prompt “Why…why are you holding your stomach? Is that blood?!”Title from Silvia Plath’s A Mad Girl’s Lovesong





	I fancied you’d return like you said...

Dark is not Wilford’s mother. He does not have to stay up late worrying whenever Wilford fails to come home on time, it’s not his responsibility - and yet, here he is, up pacing in the kitchen because the night sky is beginning to lighten, and Wilford hasn’t come home from last night’s escapades. Dark is absolutely furious.

That is, until the door clicks up and Wilford stumbles in looking like he’s been hit by a bus. Dark’s anger quickly transitions into something closer to fear.

“Wilford? Why are you holding your stomach? Is that blood?” Wilford’s gaze is distant, and his hand is clutching a suspiciously red looking stain on his pale yellow shirt. No. Dark _knew_ he should have gone with Wilford, he rarely lets his friend out of his sight for so long. He knows all too well that fate is a cruel bitch, and reality even colder. That he can lose the ones he loves at any given moment, and that the universe wouldn’t bat an eye.

But Wilford is different. Wilford never gets hurt - he’s always been trigger happy and godlike, coming out of every fight covered in blood that was seldom his own.

Not this time. “He shot me?” Wilford is sinking to his knees on the kitchen floor, sounding lost and confused. “He shot me, Dark, he shot me and I ran home. I knew you’d know what to do, Dark, it _hurts._ ” And Dark feels the words like a kick to the gut. Wilford trusts him, even now he thinks Dark will be able to fix this. Sinking right down next to him, Dark grabs onto the hem of Wilford’s dress shirt and rips through it with little regard for anything but preserving his friends life.

“God, Wil, what have you done to yourself?” Dark speaks without thinking, staring at the bloody hole in his friend’s gut. He’s bleeding so much, Dark’s hands are covered near immediately, and it feels all too fitting.

Dark can’t fix this. Yet, of course Wilford doesn’t understand that. Why would he? He’s never grasped the permanence of death, and Dark has never helped him to. Wilford thinks Dark can do anything, he always saw the best in the bitter vengeful man Dark has become. And Dark has only ever hoped to shelter Wilford, never once considering he could suffer like this.

“Hush, Will. I know, you’ll be alright.” Dark lies right through his teeth. The bullet went right into Wil’s stomach, and there’s so much blood that Dark is sure that there’s no way something important wasn’t damaged.

“What are we going to do, Dark?” Wilford sounds weaker now, and he’s slumping right into his chest, head tucked beneath Dark’s chin. “I can’t die. You and me forever, that’s what you said. If this is a joke, it’s not a funny one,” and his voice is so fragile, like Dark’s is holding him together in his arms.

Dark swallows thickly, and presses his face into Wilford’s hair, taking deep breaths. He smells like their bed, he smells like the soap in the shower they share, he smells like the only home Dark has ever known. “I don’t know, William. I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll be alright, you said so yourself.” Wilford’s breathing is labored, and his clammy hands find one of Dark’s to grip loosely, like somehow it will keep him rooted here.

Wilford is dying, and every part of Dark is dying with him. His heart, his mind, his very soul seems to be perishing at the thought of living in a world without the man he’s grown to adore. The man who he loved before he was even an idea in the mind Damien or Celine, the one exception to all of the bad inside of him. “Oh my William,” he breathes as if it has just dawned on him. “I’ve failed you.”

In response, a soft whimpering noise. The front of Dark’s suit is growing damp, and he realizes Wilford must be crying.

They stay like that for a long while, Dark just holding on to Wilford because it’s all he can do anymore. They’re both clinging to each other like they’ve done so many times before, but this time Dark’s heart is heavy with the knowledge that he’s let another person he loves down.

And then, Wilford is going heavy against Dark’s chest. His head rolls to the side, and he becomes nearly impossible to hold.

 _He’s dead, you killed him, you failed him. William, William, William,_ Dark can hear the voices of Damien and Celine speaking in tandem in his mind, heavy with grief and loss.

With his world destroyed in his arms, Dark screams. A loud bellow of grief that erupts from somewhere deep inside of him and shakes the house, his shell cracking and spilling as the best piece of Dark, the only part of himself he ever loved, is ripped from him.


End file.
